Glowing with the heat of a thousand white suns,
My desires scortch farther my soul,
I scream silently for a pleasurable pain,
Brand upon flesh, loves name.
fade the scortch into nothing more than a scar,
a remeberance of a time when you were here.
The hand held singed at the tips,
Picking up these pieces have counted for not,
Yet still I try....
Attempting love again, would be suicide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem